


It takes an ocean not to break

by tainara_black



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:40:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tainara_black/pseuds/tainara_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The warm made his muscles ease and loose, little by little. Until his heart loosened enough to start feeling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It takes an ocean not to break

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Birdy's music "Terrible Love".

As the downpour fell onto the trees and slid into the earth under their feet, his heart drummed like an old battle hymn; painful and ominous like so many times before.

Coming back home was always a scary situation. To walk into their house, sandals dirtying and wetting all over the wooden floors, to whisper a greeting and hearing no answer but a soft echo.  
Their books were still mixed. Their underwears were still tangled. Their bed was still the same. But he wasn’t there. He wasn’t coming back.  
So his voice wouldn’t say greetings back as he used to or scold him for making a mess all over the foyer.  
No.  
There was just the silence.  
And the downpour.

The rain ran down his face and made him think about tears.  
The many ones, uncountable ones, he shed lying down on the same bed they used to make love and sleep - their limbs tangled, sweaty and naked.    
He counted down the steps from the entry of the village to their home. It was exactly 476 - if he went through the shortcut he learned long ago with the man that wasn’t by his  
side anymore.  
Stopping close to the front door, he felt how the rain washed his body and soul for long minutes. It was a cold storm and the wind was starting to blow too strong to be comfortable or praiseworthy.  
The man moved ahead and opened the door with a loud buzz.

He took off his shoes. He watched them silently for awhile, but didn’t say a word. He walked into the kitchen and put on the tea kettle. Then he stripped off his clothes and put them on the pile of dirty laundry. He walked naked through the house, went upstairs and turned on the shower.  
Warm licked his skin as the tongue of a lover.  
A lover he missed every second of every day.  
The warm made his muscles ease and loose, little by little. Until his heart loosened enough to start _feeling_.

He almost choked in pain or maybe he even screamed.

The hot drops of the shower mixed up with his tears. His chest hurt so much he needed to put a hand over it to make sure it was in one piece - as least superficially, skin and bones. It twisted and sting like a poisoned kunai.  
Lacerating layers of life. Taking some years away.

_Please. Take it all._

He leaned on the tiles’ wall - cold and warm creating a troubling feeling - and breathed slowly, trying to make the pain go away. The dark, deep, disgusting feeling down his throat was just like a ball of sadness; it whirled back into the confines of his body, leaving a strong,  bad taste and the terrible feeling of nausea and emptiness.  
He coughed it out, finished washing his poor body for long, lazy minutes and walked out of the bathroom, just an old towel around the waist and the death wish inside his heart.

The room was almost dark, but even though he didn’t turn on the lights. He swang around the room, feeling the familiar texture of the wooden floor under his feet, cold and hard, just like how his heart used to feel most of the time. Then he put on some pajamas clothes - not the usual ones, but his partner’s old pajamas. It didn’t smell like him anymore, but it felt like him, and it was enough.

Walking down the stairs and back into the kitchen, he prepared some jasmine tea.

The rain kept falling down for a long time, he didn’t even notice when it stopped. His body was lying flat on the sofa, the teacup cold and untouched on the coffee table, his hand clawing on the pajama top - just above his pained heart-, his breath slow and deep, his mind full of nightmares, dreams and memories.

It took him many years to stop making _tea for a ghost_.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, but I hope my words were capable of reaching your hearts. <3  
> Reviews would be nice! :)


End file.
